wow y'all are killing me with the enthusiasm on my last post (in the best way)... lots of dean requests in those comments so i wrote this quickly! hope to follow it with a fuller fic (probably dean x plus size!r)
dean di laurentis x reader
smut (mdni!), catching feelings
wc: ~1.1k
Your fingers thread through the mop of too-blonde hair currently taking its sweet time between your legs. When you tug slightly, Dean’s moans vibrate through your core.
“Fuck, Di Laurentis,” you pant. “How are you actually so good at this? It’s really fucking — oh, fuck — annoying.”
Dean picks up the pace and presses just that little bit harder. Your legs start shaking. His hands, gripping your thighs, squeeze tighter and shake them even more. Your pleasure builds and builds until it finally peaks, a loud, involuntary sound leaving you as your orgasm sends jolts through your entire body, as it does every time Di Laurentis gets between your legs.
Your skin is still extra sensitive as Dean licks and nips at you, giving the inside of your thigh a tiny bite as he finally emerges. His characteristic smirk is splayed across his face, as is the shiny evidence of what he’s just done.
“I’m sorry, ‘annoying’? Obviously I was blowing your mind so hard, you couldn’t even think straight. I think the word you were looking for was ‘amazing’? ‘Astounding’ maybe?”
Your hand hasn’t moved from its position on his head, and you tug his long locks again, a little harder this time. He lets you, and it annoys you to no end how hot he looks, chin tilting up from your pulling, his lips parted, an amused smile ghosting them, your juices still coating them.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” you deadpan. “I meant what I said.”
He glares at you but can’t help his spreading smile as he crawls his way up your body.
“The part where you said I was soo good?” he emphasizes the last couple of words lewdly. “Or the part where you screamed so loud I think the whole campus heard you?”
“Oh my god, shut up.” You roll your eyes, but he can read the mirth in them. “You are so full of yourself.”
“I think,” he teases, giving your lips a quick peck, “You’re just mad because you want to be full of me…” He kisses you again, more tongue this time. He ruts his prominent erection between your legs to punctuate his suggestion.
“Fuck, Dean,” you can’t help but whimper, rutting up to meet his hips. He doesn’t plan on saying so out loud, but every time you use his first name, especially in bed, his hard-on gets impossibly harder. He chuckles at your reaction, and you laugh with him.
“Get inside me then,” you say and wrap your legs around his waist. His responding groan is deep and tells you just how much he wants to.
He devours your mouth as he slowly slips inside you, pausing when he bottoms out. Dean keeps making out with you lazily as he languidly moves in and out. Usually, he’d be pounding in to you by now, but this time, he wants to take his time.
You grip his ass and encourage him to move faster.
“Come on, baby, fuck me, please,” you slur as you don’t stop kissing him.
Oh, fuck. ‘Baby’ is new, and all he can think about is what to do to you to make you call him that again. His hips pick up speed; his mouth wanders your lips, your jaw, your neck. The sounds you make as he goes harder and harder spur him on.
“Fuck, Dean, fuuuck..”
He groans into the crook of your neck. He’s getting way too close, needs to get you there first. He shifts his angle the slightest bit, making his pubic bone hit your clit as he keeps thrusting. He feels your hands clutch him tighter, your legs squeeze around him, and a couple thrusts later, the moans you make as you orgasm, your lips right by his ear, send him over the edge with you even before your pulsing around his cock prolongs it even further.
Dean keeps up his motions as you both come down, just much slower, gently kissing your shoulder and neck. When he finally stills, he doesn’t roll off of you like usual, staying on top of you, feeling you breathe under him.
He pulls his face back to look at you, and it hits him just how gorgeous you are. He’s too far gone to really notice that that’s usually a thought he has when he wants to fuck someone, not after he already has.
He pecks your lips then lingers a bit as he plants a kiss on your forehead. You giggle, and he pulls back.
“What are you laughing at?”
“Nothing, just tickles,” you say easily. His heart flutters.
“Oh yeah? What about this?” His hands move to your ribcage, tickling you mercilessly. His weight on top of you keeps you from being able to escape his evil, wandering hands. Not that you are trying all that hard.
“Stop, Dean, stop!” you laugh, smacking then holding on to his broad shoulders.
“Okay, okay,” he says as he finally does, still laughing lightly.
You both just stare at each other as you catch your breaths. Your smiles fade slowly, and when there’s only traces of them left, you realize the mood has melted with them. It’s less playful, heavier somehow.
Dean’s eyes move down to your lips. You’ve seen him do this many times now, so you don’t know why it catches your attention differently this time. He kisses you.
As he pulls back, you smile but whisper, “I should probably go. It’s getting kind of late.”
He looks surprised for a moment then something more somber for a fraction of one before he says, “Yeah, yeah,” with a chuckle as he rolls off of you.
You can feel his eyes on you as you collect your clothes from around his room then put them on.
“Have you seen my sweatshirt? Sounds windier out there.”
“Um, no, I don’t think you were wearing one when you got here. No worries, though, just borrow one of mine.” He gets up and tosses you one.
“Thanks,” comes out muffled as you slip it on.
“No problem.”
“Alright then.”
“Yeah.”
Why was this awkward? Saying bye was never awkward with you.
“See you later?”
“Yeah, sure,” he says with a smile. He hopes it looks easier than it feels.
“I’ll give this back next time,” you say, tugging the sweatshirt. Damn, it looks good on you. He almost wants to tell you to keep it.
“Yeah, of course, whatever,” he shrugs.
“Cool.”
“Cool.”
“Bye.” You punctuate it with a short kiss as you head toward the door.
“Bye,” he echoes as he closes it after you. A whispered “fuck” leaves his lips as he leans on it after you leave. He really shouldn’t already be thinking about ‘next time,’ especially given the thoughts have nothing to do with getting his sweatshirt back.
dailybridgerton
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